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Hazardia blush'd, then turn'd her head aside,
A rival's envy (all in vain) to hide.
This snuff-box—on the hinge see brilliants shine!
This snuff-box will I stake; the prize is mine.
CARD. Alas! far lesser losses than I bear
Have made a soldier sigh, a lover swear.
And, oh! what makes the disappointment hard,
'Twas my own lord that drew the fatal card.
In complaisance, I took the queen he gave;
Though my own secret wish was for the knave:
The knave won Sonica, which I had chose,—
And the next pull my Septleva I lose.
SMIL. But, ah! what aggravates the killing smart,
The cruel thought that stabs me to the heart;
This curs'd Ombrelia, this undoing fair,
By whose vile arts this heavy grief I bear;
She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears,
She owes to me the very charms she wears.
An awkward thing, when first she came to town,
Her shape unfashion'd, and her face unknown;
She was my friend; I taught her first to spread
Upon her sallow cheeks enliv'ning red;
I introduc'd her to the Park and plays,
And, by my int'rest, Cozens made her stays.
Ungrateful wretch! with mimic airs grown pert,
She dares to steal my fav'rite lover's heart.
CARD. Wretch that I was, how often have I
When Winnall tally'd, I would punt no more?
I know the bite, yet to my ruin run,
And see the folly which I cannot shun.
SMIL. How many maids have Sharper's vows
How many curs'd the moment they believ'd?
Yet his known falsehoods could no warning prove;
Ah! what is warning to a maid in love.
CARD. But of what marble must that breast be
To gaze on Basset and remain unwarm'd?
When kings, queens, knaves, are set in decent rank,
Expos'd in glorious heaps the tempting bank,
Guineas, half-guineas, ail the shining train,
The winner's pleasure, and the loser's pain:
In bright confusion open rouleaus lie,
They strike the soul, and glitter in the eye.
Fir'd by the sight, all reason I disdain,
My passions rise, and will not bear the rein:—
Look upon Basset, you who reason boast,
And see if reason must not there be lost.
SMIL. What more than marble must that heart
Can hearken coldly to my Sharper's vows?
Then, when he trembles! when his blushes rise!
When awful love seems melting in his eyes!
With eager beats his Mechlin cravat moves,
He loves-I whisper to myself, He loves!
Such unfeign'd passion in his looks appears,
I lose all mem'ry of my former fears;
My panting heart confesses all his charms,
I yield at once, and sink into his arms.
Think of that moment you who prudence boast; For such a moment, prudence well were lost. CARD. At the Groom-porter's, batter'd bullies
Some dukes at Marybone bowl time away;
But who the bowl, or rattling dice compares
To Basset's heav'nly joys and pleasing cares?
SMIL. Soft Simplicetta dotes upon a beau;
Prudina likes a man, and laughs at show:
Their several graces in my Sharper meet,
Strong as the footman, as the master sweet.
LOV. Cease your contention, which has been
I grow impatient, and the tea's too strong.
Attend, and yield to what I now decide;
The equipage shall grace Smilinda's side;
The Snuff-box to Cardelia I decree.
Now leave complaining, and begin your tea,
Un jour, dit un auteur, &c.
ONCE (says an author, where I need not say)
Two trav'llers found an oyster in their way :
Both fierce, both hungry, the dispute grew strong,
While, scale in hand, Dame Justice pass'd along.
Before her each with clamor pleads the laws,
Explain'd the matter, and would win the cause.
Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful right,
Takes, opens, swallows it, before their sight.
The cause of strife remov'd so rarely well,
There take, (says Justice) take you each a shell.
We thrive at Westminster on fools like you:
'Twas a fat oyster-live in peace—Adieu.
Seen with wit and beauty seldom.
'Tis a fear that starts at shadows.
'Tis (no, 'tis n't) like Miss Meadows.
'Tis a virgin hard of feature,
Old, and void of all good nature;
Lean and fretful; would seem wise;
Yet plays the fool before she dies.
'Tis an ugly envious shrew
That rails at dear Lepell and you.
GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
MUSE, 'tis enough; at length thy labor ends,
And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends.
Let crowds of critics now my verse assail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail;
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain,
Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain.
Sheffield approves, consenting Phœbus bends,
And I and Malice from this hour are friends.
A PROLOGUE BY MR. POPE.
To a play for Mr. Dennis's benefit, in 1733, when he was old, blind, and in great distress, a little before his death.
As when that hero, who in each campaign
Had brav'd the Goth, and many a Vandal slain,
Lay Fortune-struck, a spectacle of woe!
Wept by each friend, forgiv'n by ev'ry foc :-
Was there a gen'rous, a reflecting mind,
But pity'd Bellisarius, old and blind?
Was there a chief but melted at the sight?
A common soldier, but who club'd his mite?
Such, such emotions should in Britons rise,
When press'd by want and weakness, Dennis lies;
Dennis! who long had warr'd with modern Huns,
Their quibbles routed, and defy'd their puns;
A desp'rate bulwark, sturdy, firm, and fierce,
Against the Gothic sons of frozen verse: